


Cassian and the Leather Strap

by librarian_of_velaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Funny, Gen, Getting Ready, night out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarian_of_velaris/pseuds/librarian_of_velaris
Summary: Cassian is a little fussy with his hair, and, getting ready to go out, despite Nesta warning him against taking her things, he takes her last hair tie.





	Cassian and the Leather Strap

_If you keep stealing my hair ties I swear on the Cauldron that one day you’ll wake up and find that stupid little tuft of hair you call a bun gone._

_You wouldn’t dare, Nes._

_Oh, but I would._

Cassian shrugged off the memory as he stepped out of the shower and reached into her drawer, pulling out a strap of leather—the last one, he realized. He’d replace it for her soon enough. She wouldn’t even notice it was missing! And for a night out with his brothers…there was no way he was leaving without his  _signature_  look. Hair messily tied half up, half down, loose strands framing his face.

By the Cauldron, he was hot. And he knew it. He  _embraced it._

But hair that beautiful didn’t come easily. It took  _work._ Approximately thirty minutes in front of the mirror, with hairspray and combs and nimble fingers, to be exact. To his brothers and his mate, he was obsessive, but Cassian knew better. He just wanted to make sure he looked his best, even if his clothes didn’t always reflect that.

He wasn’t like Rhys, he didn’t give a shit about fashion. But with hair like his, he could get away with it. Those luscious locks let him get away with any fashion faux-pas.

Even if Rhys ridiculed him for it.

Leather strap in hand, he stood in front of the mirror and shook out his hair, letting the excess water fly away in little droplets. He then took the towel from his waist (briefly admiring his naked figure in the mirror and flexing a bit—he  _was_  muscular, and after all the effort it took, he might as well enjoy it) and wrapped it around his shoulder-length locks, squeezing and ruffling it through his hair until only damp strands remained.

He wrapped the towel back around his waist and got to styling.

Styling his hair was done in a series of nine specific steps.

  1.  Dry soaking hair by shaking it out and drying the excess with a towel (check)
  2. Admire self in mirror (if you can’t love yourself, who  _can_ you love? Also check)
  3. Comb through hair gently—no brushes. Avoid. The. Poof.  
  4. Use fingers to comb through again, scrunching it to create semi-waves
  5. Take top half of hair and twist it around, creating the perfect bun
  6. Secure it with a strap of leather—preferably one of Nesta’s
  7. Repeat steps 5-6 until bun is up to par
  8. Pull out some of the hairs so it looks like you slept on it—always pull more than expected
  9. Admire your work



Cassian was on step five when he was rudely interrupted by none other than fashion king-slash-icon himself: Rhys.

He was dressed in a black suit with silver thread running through it, the embodiment of the Night Court, as always.

“Move over, brother,” said Rhys, scooting Cassian over until they were sharing the mirror.

“Find your own mirror,  _brother,_ ” Cassian spat back.

Rhys’s nudge had caused Cassian’s hand to drop on instinct, ready to shove back, ruining the bun he was preparing to secure.  _Bastard._

“I heard that,” Rhys said smoothly.

_Good._

“Haven’t you learned to share, Cass? The mirror’s big enough for two.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and grumbled.  No, it was not big enough for two. Not when he needed to get ready.

But he was in a good mood, so he simply said “fine” and went back to fixing his hair.

“So,” Rhys asked, grabbing some nearby gel to tame his dark strands, “have you thought about what you’re wearing to Rita’s? I have the best—”

“I already know what I’m wearing.”

“You didn’t even give me the chance to  _tell_ you!”

“Because you’ll come up with something ridiculous. Plus, I already know what to wear.  _And_  it’s even Nesta approved.”

Rhys mumbled what could only have been an “I doubt that” but Cassian pretended not to hear it.

The two males resumed their hair care. Cassian took three tries to create the perfect bun—a new personal record—and Rhys applied enough gel that his hair wasn’t moving anytime soon. Not even flying could move a lock out of place, he told Cassian triumphantly.

Cassian scoffed. He preferred the wind-swept look.

When Cassian reached for the leather strap to secure the bun in place, though, Rhys eyed him curiously. “Isn’t that Nesta’s?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Don’t you remember what she said the last time you stole that,” he said, pointing to the strap, “from her?”

Cassian huffed a laugh. Of course he remembered. But for all Nesta joked, she loved his hair. Loved pulling on it, running her hands through it…Cauldron, he loved when she touched his hair. And she loved it, too. She would never ruin it.

“She won’t even know it’s gone,” Cassian replied, smiling, “I’ll replace it soon enough.”

“Whatever you say, Cass. Now get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Rhys left, Cassian soon following. He went back to his room, raiding his closet for Nesta approved clothes.

He found absolutely nothing that matched that Nesta  _also_ happened to love. She loved his navy pants, but the black button down she liked clashed. The black pants, though, didn’t fit him right (or so she said), so they were a no go. He was half-tempted to put on his flying leathers—a big fuck you to Rhys—but he figured the better statement would be actually showing up with a decent outfit. So he looked through his closet, and at the very back, hidden from everything, was a nice, white button-down shirt. Now  _that_ would match the navy—or, he hoped it did. He managed to find the matching navy jacket that went with the navy pants, put on his clothes, and walked back to the bathroom to take a look in the mirror.  _Holy Mother,_ he thought, looking himself up and down,  _I match. And I look_ damn  _good._

He checked his hair one more time, pulling out some extra strands for that messy-I-just-woke-up look, and went downstairs to meet the others.

Nesta was with them, her hair…down? Cassian did a double take. He wasn’t imagining things. She really did stand there, her bronze hair cascading down her shoulders in gorgeous waves that framed her face in a way Cassian had never seen before.

And she was glaring at Cassian. More specifically, she was glaring at his hair. At the leather strap that kept his bun in place.

Cassian winked at her.

Nesta ignored him, waving a hand towards the door. “Let’s go.”

So the Court of Dreams left for Rita’s, with Nesta and Cassian leading the way.

Before they arrived, though, Nesta whispered to Cassian, so quietly only he could hear, “I like your hair. How’d you tie it up?”

She knew.

***

The Inner Circle came stumbling home in the late hours of the night. Back in their room, Cassian flopped into bed, absolutely exhausted.

“Come here,” Cassian said, reaching his arms out to his mate.

She shook her head as if to say,  _in a minute._ He pouted, wriggling his fingers to convince her. She rolled her eyes at him.  _Overgrown bat._

Nesta went to the bathroom, but was holding something when she returned. Cassian couldn’t tell what it was, though it looked…shiny. It glinted in the dimly lit room.

“Remember when I told you not to steal any of my hair ties?” Nesta asked sweetly.

Cassian mumbled what sounded like a yes.

“And,” she said, continuing, “do you remember what I said would happen if you did?”

Cassian cocked his head.  _What did she say…_

But then he saw what Nesta held in her hands.

Scissors.

“You would never,” he said.

“Try me, Cass,” she responded, moving towards him—and his hair—with the scissors.

Cassian yelped and jumped out of the bed, starting towards the door.

“You love my hair! You wouldn’t!”

“You took my last hair tie!”

“I  _needed_ it,” he explained, starting to open the door.

“So did I, Cass, so did I, and,” she said, starting towards him, “it seems like the only way you’ll learn not to take my stuff is if you learn a lesson…”

Cassian darted out the door, running to the front doors of the townhouse.

She yelled after him, laughing in between words. “Come on Cass, it’s not so bad! It’s just a little haircut!”

“You’ll never take it away from me if you can’t catch me!” he yelled back, already outside the town house and running along the Sidra.

Nesta doubled over laughing. Of course she wasn’t going to touch his hair; he was right, she did love it. But watching him fuss about his hair and run around Velaris in his pajamas, afraid of a pair of scissors?

_That_ was a much better punishment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If there's something you'd like to see me write, just let me know or send me a prompt!
> 
> xoxo  
> Zoe


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